


Enchanting Collection of Spells and Potions

by Anonymous



Series: Love Without You Is Death [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Choking, Dirty Talk, Domesticity, F/M, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Multi, Rough Sex, polyamory (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Neither one of them break eye contact, stares boring into their skulls. They’re playing the game now, whether they wanted to avoid it or not, and now every move has to be calculated if they wanted to win, not a second wasted. “Geralt, I know you think you can catch me, but that’s not the case here. I’m fast, much faster than you, and I will slip right through your fingers.”Now, Yenn said not to burn the house down, but she never said anything about turning it upside down.—————In which Jaskier accidentally-on-purpose takes a potion he shouldn’t, and let’s just say things get a little heated between Geralt and Jaskier in the Witcher-Bard-Mage-Princess Household.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Love Without You Is Death [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605841
Comments: 6
Kudos: 157
Collections: Anonymous





	Enchanting Collection of Spells and Potions

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm going to be extending this series and focusing on a polyamorous relationship between our three mains, as well as maybe less smut and more family life too! Enjoy!

“I don’t need it back.”

“Well, I have no use for it any longer.”

“Let me rephrase: I don’t want it back.”

Geralt stares quizzically at Yennefer, trying to understand why she wouldn’t want her collection complete, searching for a tell-tale sign on her face. She raises an eyebrow as if it’s obvious and Geralt sighs, moving the camping essentials out of her view, slightly sheepish and unnerved by the fact she could sense what exactly happened in the tent.

“Right. Well, I’m going to wait for Ciri to get back home, maybe cook her her favourite dinner,” says Geralt, scratching his neck. “I assume you and Tissaia have more work to do?”

She nods. “Yes, we still have to help rebuild some of the cities in the South. Make sure you don’t burn the house down while I’m gone. And that applies to _all_ of you,” she says sternly. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out, disappearing in a portal of her magic.

Geralt never intended to be the type of man to stay home and cook dinner for a child that is always late, but when he’s had enough of hunting monsters, it’s the easiest way for him to unwind. He’s become more of a family man than he ever envisioned, being finally brought together with Ciri by destiny changing how he viewed the world. Over the years he’s grown a loving family with only the people closest to him.

He found out he could cook properly when guests coming over called for an emergency feast and Yenn asked – or demanded, rather – for him to help. Now, he cooks more than anyone else in the house, and he minds less than he thought he would.

“Oh, that smells wonderful. If I’m lucky, I’ll have you all to myself tonight,” murmurs Jaskier, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist. Geralt sighs and keeps a steady eye on the flames. “You’re not the only one who knows how to take care of meat, you know?”

Geralt turns and looks at Jaskier’s eyes, checking his pupils and sniffing the air around him carefully. Yes, Jaskier has had an increased libido since the night at the camp, but he usually isn’t this confident, tending to be more sly and teasing than bold and daring. The smell of lavender and roses fills his nostrils, explaining a lot more than words ever could. “Jaskier, what did you take?”

“Yennefer has a most enchanting collection of spells and potions in that room of hers, you know?” He backs away slowly and starts dancing all around the kitchen to invisible music. “Absolutely wonderful! Delightful, even! The most intriguing one was this little purple beauty that just smelt heavenly. You know me, I couldn’t resist!”

“Dammit, Jaskier! We’ve told you to stay away from those potions!” growls Geralt, angry that the bard never seems to learn from his mistakes. He blows the fire under the food out and starts towards Jaskier, slowly like a predator circling its prey. “I’ll make you some tea with herbs to help you calm down and you can take a nap to get rid of the effects.”

Jaskier keeps his distance, seeing right through Geralt’s soft words. “I am perfectly fine. In fact, it is quite possible I’ve never felt this good, but-” he eyes Geralt “-I know what would make me feel even better.”

Neither one of them break eye contact, stares boring into their skulls. They’re playing the game now, whether they wanted to avoid it or not, and now every move has to be calculated if they wanted to win, not a second wasted. “Geralt, I know you think you can catch me, but that’s not the case here. I’m fast, much faster than you, and I will slip right through your fingers.”

Now, Yenn said not to burn the house down, but she never said anything about turning it upside down.

Geralt takes a leap, not metaphorically, jumping over the table to try and get to Jaskier before he can run away, but he’s nimble, moving out of the way before he can be caught, leaving the smell of lavender and roses behind where he was just standing. He’s smirking, enjoying having the upper hand, even if it means that Geralt is slowly even more fuming than he already was.

“Jaskier, stop playing games,” breathes Geralt, the smell intoxicating him the closer he gets, and he can only hope it won’t affect him too much. The bard ponders over the question for a moment, unsure of what he wants to do. He loves when Geralt takes care of him when he’s sick, but he also enjoys the fun, toying with a man who would never dream of using his full strength against him. It’s a plea he needs to think about very carefully.

“What do I get in return?” he finally asks, but when Geralt takes a second longer to answer than he should, Jaskier answers for him. “Too late. Guess you’ll have to catch me if you can.”

He’s off, tearing through the house, his short legs carrying him as fast as they’ll go. Oh, he’ll probably regret this when Geralt inevitably catches him, but maybe he’ll also be more rough with him, like he’s been asking him to do. He isn’t exactly sure of what he wants anymore, and the aphrodisiac is making him giddier with every breath.

He runs into the first room and rushes to the window, opening it all the way to drink in the fresh air outside. Geralt follows the fading smell of the potion, entering the same room as the bard, only to find him leaning out of the window, his mind too foggy to notice he might fall to his death.

“Jaskier!”

The Witcher runs to his side, scooping him up and holding him in his arms, listening to his soft murmurs. “My head… Yennefer… Too much.”

“Gods, you’re so stupid sometimes,” says Geralt, stroking his hair as he comes down from a very intense and dangerous high. The smell of lavender is still quite potent and Jaskier fiddling with the strings on Geralt’s shirt isn’t helping him control himself.

Fingers drum on his chest, a feather-light touch making the Geralt’s heart beat faster than normal, an unconscious action on Jaskier’s part. He’s humming a gentle melody, the one thing he knows Geralt can’t resist, all his muscles tensing as he fails to relax, and Jaskier can feel the effects of his work poking him in his side. He smiles and looks up at his lover.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Witcher?”

“No.”

Jaskier stands up slowly, untangling himself from Geralt’s warm body. Slowly, he unties the string of his own shirt, letting it fall open more than it already was. In his mind, he’s up on a stage, entrancing his lover, the effects of the potion still not completely gone from his blood. He feels confident, capable of much more than he would normally be, and it feels amazing to have this much power in his hands.

This show he’s putting on is something he might have to do more often, because Geralt’s eyes are watching his every move and the way his hands trace his bare thighs, reeling him just where he wants him. “It’s torture, isn’t it? Knowing that something is so close to you, so willing, but you’re not allowed to touch. Shame. I suppose I’ll have to find another Witcher to take care of me.”

The beast in him snaps.

He stands, eyes feral and not a hint of a smile on his face. Jaskier doesn’t move, frozen in fear. He’s only ever seen him this angry on the battlefield when Jaskier has been hurt by their enemy, and he knows there’s no escaping him when he’s like this, so he stays where he is, half-naked, waiting to meet his fate.

He’s pushed into the wall, Geralt’s fingers running around his body. “Another Witcher, you say? What other would treat you like I have, a king amongst men? What Witcher would let you rub chamomile in every nook and cranny? What Witcher would kill for you, die for you, do anything for you? You’re mine, bard. Only mine.”

Now this sends a thrill down Jaskier’s spine, exciting nerves he didn’t know existed. To see how possessive he is about him is incredibly dreamy, and to know someone feels this way about him is unbelievable. If this is a dream, he hopes that he never wakes up, because he could live in a loop of this forever. Geralt holds Jaskier by the chin.

“Now, I’m starting to think you took that aphrodisiac on purpose, just to mess with my head. I think you knew exactly what you were doing,” mutters Geralt, voice low and ominous.

He kisses his bard forcefully, leaving him breathless both literally and figuratively, the fingers around his neck squeezing just right. My Gods, the talent he has to make him feel so much with so little is something he will never understand. The loss of control is the very thing that makes himself feel in control, and to be at the mercy of the man he loves most is something fresh and exciting for the both of them, but they’re lucky they can experience it together.

Jaskier places his hand on Geralt’s chest, steadying himself on the firm muscles so he can stay grounded even though he’s pretty sure he’s floating. Geralt yanks down the bard’s underwear in one move, desperate to have him there and then, and if he waits any longer, he’ll go feral. He cannot be denied his body any longer.

“Please…” croaks out Jaskier, nearly ripping out the hair from Geralt’s skull. “Don’t make me wait any longer. Just don’t.”

He chuckles into his ear. “Oh, trust me, waiting is not part of the plan. I’m going to fuck you so hard there’ll be cracks in the wall, because that’s what you want after all, isn’t it? You want me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name, so hard that you forget how many times you’ve come.”

The sounds coming from Jaskier are ungodly, the whispers in his ear driving him insane, the thoughts in his head complete filth and nothing more. He’s lost in himself, in his mind, fantasies running wild in a way he didn’t know he could ever imagine. The things he wants Geralt to do to him like sin. He is so thankful to have found a man like this, one that accepts him for all he is, and he’ll never stop loving him for it.

He’s pretty sure there are about to be tears coming out of his eyes, but the moment Geralt starts thrusting, he really does forget everything, force and speed and angles doing everything for them in this moment. Despite the distance put in by the name-calling, the roughness, they feel closer than ever, hearts as tangled together as their bodies, hands and kisses demanding intimacy from one another.

This is them, at their ugliest, at their most beautiful, betraying secrets about the way they are like a slip of the tongue, because they are unafraid of the reaction of their partner, because they only know the definition of trust when they’re together, they only know how to be honest when being as raw and vulnerable as they can possibly be.

A tremble in their breathing and then they’re back to reality, remembering all that they’ve forgotten, clinging to the last few precious, short-lived feelings the moment has left them with. The aphrodisiac is gone, leaving them just like they were before it, exposed and so incredibly human. They help each other move to the bed, a place where they can lie down while they try to become the people they were before.

“There are actual cracks in the wall, you know?” whispers Geralt, drawing patterns into Jaskier’s back with care, like he doesn’t want to disturb his peace too much. “Mainly my fault, but I lose myself when I’m with you. Everything about you makes me dizzy.”

Jaskier chuckles, if only through his nose. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have taken that potion just to get you to be slightly more rough with me. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He holds his bard close, letting him rest his head on his heart, close and warm. “You’re always going to be safe with me. I promise you.”

And so they lay, having discovered a new part of themselves, something so bold about the way they’ve realised how much more complicated they are and all of the little strings that make them up. And love for them is never going to be easy, not when it’s more than just the two of them, but love is rarely ever simple, and they’re okay with that.

“Oh, not in my fucking room too!”

**Author's Note:**

> [my ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)


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